


Vision of a chilly night near the gates of Mictlán

by Arithanas



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cat Ears, Cemetery, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Flower Maidens, Folklore, Gen, Mexican Folklore - Freeform, Mictlán, Ofrendas, Skeletons, Tombstones, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: The Dapper Skeleton, Calaverita, and Santa Muerte waited for her, of which they held the rightful place in the mind of the mortals, to appear.





	Vision of a chilly night near the gates of Mictlán

The Dapper Skeleton walked primly on high heels, making her way to the graveyard with an elegant wiggle of her bony ass with each step under that long, pleated hobble skirt. Her grace was not diminished by the fact her toes slid inside the buttoned boots—all the rage in Paris—with every step. Nor was she impaired by the hasty movement she made every three or four steps to adjust the huge hat over her round skull. It was her custom to be naked—like all skeletons with an ounce of dignity—but, to mark the occasion, she had decided to arrive in full dress. She even put some new ribbon bows under the brim of her hat.

This year, instead of the usual rabble, she will be the first one.

In spite of her good intentions, she stopped by the gate of a lovely colonial house to inspect the offering. _Cempasúchil_ petals were properly strewn from the gate to the offering. The lime cross was visible enough with four long candles at each end and copal incense floated all the way to her. The candles bathed pictures, _alfeñiques_ , and fruits in their soft light without any discrimination. The joyful _papel picado_ wafted in the breeze, and the banquets aromas were enough to make her mouth water.

With fleshless fingers, The Dapper Skeleton counted the levels of the offering and was satisfied when they turned out seven, all crowned with a big wood and silver crucifix. It was a pleasure to see tradition respected.

After wiping her non-existent lips with the handkerchief she took from inside her sleeve and tossing her feathered boa over her shoulder, The Dapper Skeleton sauntered all the way to the graveyard.

The joyful sound of her bones pushing the gate was the only thing that disturbed the blissful silence of the _Camposanto_ . Just after the entry, someone had made a wonderful _tapete_ with sand and pigments: A skeleton was dancing with a drunk Tehuana. The Dapper Skeleton approved the detail of the artist: those jiggling _tetas_ were a work of art.

The Dapper Skeleton has arrived, and with time to spare. From her small bag, she took out a dainty powder box and generously applied rice starch to her pale complexion with the aid of the mirror. To her horror, she discovered she was not the first one. Calaverita was resting on top a grave, with that horrid flower crown on top of her still-fleshed head. Her mariachi jacket was open and her neon pink bra peeked out from the white shirt.  All of that could be forgivable, but the last indignity was those dirty white sneakers on her feet.

“I thought we’d gotten rid of you!” The Dapper Skeleton closed her powder box with a snap and simultaneously turned around dramatically. “You were so 2015, Calaverita!”

Calaverita ignored her and swung that dirty sneaker as if she was listening to the best song in the world. The Dapper Skeleton leaned forward and extended her hand. Like all living, Calaverita reacted suddenly at the proximity. In a blink of her very-living eyelids, Calaverita was sitting and taking the earbuds from her ears.

“Hi there, Catrina!” Calaverita greeted at full voice. Reggaeton was still blasting from her earbuds.

“ _¡Ay, que me da…!_ ” The Dapper Skeleton exclaimed with a hand over her inexistent bosom at the sight of the fluffy cat ears over her multicolor hair.

“You are kind of late, _chula_ …”

“Will the day come when you learn to respect tradition? And please call me _madame_ or _Doña Catrina_ , if that’s not too much to ask!”

“ _Madame!_ ” Calaverita let out an impudent laugh. “Please, Catrina, you are more Mexican than the fucking eagle on the flag!”

“Manners, _chamaca_ ,” The Dapper Skeleton retorted, poking at the fluffy cat ears that looked pretty _gabachas_ to her conservative non-eyes. “And what are you doing here, pray tell?”

“Halloween party has just finished, besides...” Calaverita pouted. Her voice sounded almost wounded when she continued. “It’s Día de Muertos, you wouldn’t have Día de Muertos without me, would you?”

Kids these days... The Dapper Skeleton was sure Calaverita would have faded this year—and the thought had made her old bones dance—but if she was around it was because people liked her. That’s why democracy was a bad idea.

Instead of replying, The Dapper Skeleton pulled closed the open shirt, saying, “Try to be presentable when she comes, please!”

“If we are talking of…” Calaverita hesitated, “ _she_ , I doubt my perky _chiches_ will cause any scandal.”

The Dapper Skeleton let out a shocked gasp.The language of that kid...

Santa Muerte, all dressed in red with a miniature globe in her right hand and a scythe in the other, came trotting between the gravestones. Her heavy veil was floating behind her while the rope she used as a belt swung haphazardly.

“Are we talking of _her_?”

“No, we are definitely not talking about _her_ .” The Dapper Skeleton was getting pretty indignant with these careless youths. She consulted the small round clock—all in rage in _la belle Paris_ — pinned to her jacket. “You are barely on time. What’s your excuse?”

“Halloween party, eh, _Flaca_?” Calaverita said in a mocking tone, trying to poke Santa Muerte in the ribcage, managing only to push the fabric between her ribs.

Santa Muerte ignored her and smiled, a smile that was all teeth, to The Dapper Skeleton. “Special _rosario negro_ in Tepito… I barely had the time to take off the bridal gown.”

“And you can’t pass up an opportunity for veneration.” The Dapper Skeleton felt the need to pinch the bridge of her long gone nose.

“We all have our failures,” Santa Muerte admitted, putting the round crown over her veil with a coquettish flourish, “as your many ribbons can attest.”

The Dapper Skeleton raised a bony finger, but her jaw slacked and hung over her blouse. The rebuke was as savage as it was irrefutable.

The bells of the cathedral rang midnight in solemn tones and the air became still. A lonely _caramillo_ sounded in the distance. The Dapper Skeleton, Calaverita and Santa Muerte turned their heads to the north, feeling the earth trembling with the impatient step of the thousands of millions moving from Mictlán, crossing dimensions of fog, beasts, arrows, moors, knives, wind, mountains, and rivers to visit those who still lived.

The ground shook at the rhythm of drums and footsteps before they could hear the flute and the million of shells banging. The packed dirt crumbled beneath their feet before _cempasúchil_ petals exploded like a geyser. A dark cloud of bats followed the flowers, filling the night with their voices. A true carpet of spiders covered the graveyard, running over boots, sneakers, and bones. A stare of owls demanded the world’s attention.

The underworld gate burst open and the choir of those departed came to the world singing praises to the True Queen of the Dead.  

The first out of Mictlán were the untouched virgins wearing _cueitl_ of pure cotton. Their _quechquémitl_ were full of colorful embroidery showing birds and snakes. They tossed more _cempasúchil_ until breathing became impossible. The world was covered anew with color and life. The young men came next, holding lit braziers over their heads, girding their loins with colorful _maxtlatl_. They advanced, letting the shells around their ankles make music.

The Dapper Skeleton, Calaverita and Santa Muerte waited for her, of which they held the rightful place in the mind of the mortals, to appear.

She, who was sacrificed at the moment she was born, who grew up in Mictlán and had the sacred duty of guarding the bones of those who passed, stepped out the underworld. Her sure footsteps were taken on high back sandals; her long legs carried her in a regal march among the pack of _xoloitzcuintli_ that followed her everywhere. Venomous snakes, snapping in all directions, covered her belly. The many folds of her belly announced her many births and her saggy, full breasts with wide, red areolas couldn’t be covered by her necklace of hands and heads without flesh. She opened her arms as if she was claiming the world for her sole pleasure. Her fingers, painted red and yellow, extended with greedy delight. Her long neck supported her white skull crowned with quetzal feathers and little skulls. Her gaze fell on those who roamed the world in her stead.

The Dapper Skeleton curtsied and turned around to fulfill her mission: to teach humans that riches meant nothing and that to pretend otherwise was to invite ridicule.

Calaverita waved and ran to climb the wall of the graveyard. Her duty was to spread the message: you shouldn’t take life too seriously, because you won’t get out alive from it.

Santa Muerte bowed her head and presented her scythe before moving slowly among the tombstones, ready to remind the living that death was also a blessing

Mictecacíhuatl, the one who cuts the umbilical cord, strode the land of the living, waiting for homage and tribute. Behind her followed the thousands of millions of grateful dead waiting to meet those they love.

The celebration of life and death began anew.

**Author's Note:**

> This author wants to express her gratitude to driedflowers who answered the hippo call and made this fic better.


End file.
